<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Post-battle hugs by Lotuslia</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28071912">Post-battle hugs</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lotuslia/pseuds/Lotuslia'>Lotuslia</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dragon Age: Origins</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, Gen, Mentions of Death, nobody dies in the fic though, some sads but i def consider this fluff</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 17:40:22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,045</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28071912</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lotuslia/pseuds/Lotuslia</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A quick drabble of the post-Archdemon sleepy wardens.<br/>Amya Tabris and Alistair are ready to drop to sleep, and Zevran is restlessly patrolling the halls though the fight is over. They tug him into a cuddle pile and it's all really soft.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Alistair &amp; Female Warden (Dragon Age), Alistair &amp; Zevran Arainai, Zevran Arainai/Female Warden, can be read as ali/warden/zev as well if you want</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Post-battle hugs</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I've barely proofread this lmao</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Even before the battle at Fort Drakon, the entire day in Denerim had felt long and strenuous. To be fair, neither of the wardens had found sleep easy the previous night, after being told of their eventual demise at the battle by Warden Riordan. Despite Morrigan’s solution, the various what-ifs had kept them wary and awake.</p><p>But now the archdemon was dead, and both of them still lived. Arl Eamon had promised celebrations the next day, but for now the wardens’ group had the rest of the night for themselves to recover and catch their breaths in peace. A party was the last thing any of them wanted now, but if the people needed something positive after a year of blight, they wouldn’t be the ones to deny it.</p><p>Their companions were gathered together in quiet little groups across the halls, many of them being looked over by Wynne for healing. Amya herself was sitting on the floor of a little side room, dressed down to soft fabrics, knees up against her chest as she held one arm in a bandage at her chest. She leaned onto Alistair’s side as he sat beside her, both dangerously close to nodding off as they shared a quiet conversation, his arm around her shoulders like he was afraid the bubble of time where they both still lived would pop if he let go.</p><p>“It’s hard to believe it’s really over,” Alistair muttered with half-lidded eyes, sighing deeply as he glanced around the room. He was quietly going through the past year in his mind, remembering each event at a time, from Ostagar to the top of Fort Drakon.</p><p>“I know.” Amya whispered back, too tired to mention that it was probably the fifth time he had begun this line of thought out loud. She found their journey just as unbelievable to look back to now. “It’s going to take a while to let everything settle, you know?” Her voice sounded strained, but she smiled up at her best friend, leaning her head to his side, where she rested under his arm. The two wardens had been pushed close since the start, and had become tight friends early on, despite their multitudes of disagreements. While Alistair was feeling the loss of Duncan, and Amya the distance between herself and her family back in the alienage, the two wardens had held each other’s spirits high, and kept on walking forward.</p><p>“Yeah, for sure.” Alistair breathed out, glancing at the door frame when a familiar shadowed figure slipped past for what felt like the twentieth time. Normally he would have been alarmed, but they both knew this restless shadow better than most. Zevran had been patrolling the hallways and windows like clockwork ever since Wynne had let him go from her makeshift healing room. It seemed the ex-assassin was having trouble calming his nerves after such an eventful day, and was still awaiting further battles to come. </p><p>“I should be mad that you stole the last hit, even if Morrigan’s ritual worked, but… I don’t think I have space for more emotion in me, right now.” He gave a dry little laugh, all humor gone from it as he stared up at the ceiling.</p><p>Amya’s gaze hardened, and she swatted at his arm. “You may not be king, but the wardens would follow you, if one of us were to fall.” She saw his frown, noting he was about to retort, and shook her head. “I don’t want to argue right now. We’re alive, we don’t have to think about what-ifs anymore.”</p><p>“No, I will be coming back to this once I have the energy to think properly, you can be sure of that. You’re not getting out of this so easily, Tabris.” He mumbled, frustrated but accepting the truce for now. Amya couldn’t help but chuckle under her breath, humming in response.</p><p>They both glanced up as the door opened yet again, the repeating route of their elven companion bringing him back into the room for a moment or two, before they knew he would yet again wander off to keep watch in the quiet castle. Amya shifted before he could run off again, relaxing her posture a bit so that she wasn’t hugging her legs so intently anymore, and held out her healthy arm for him, her fingers reaching at him.</p><p>“Zev, please. Sit down. I’m more tired just looking at you come and go.” </p><p>Her voice was quiet, but the elf paused and turned to the pair on the floor, meeting her eyes a bit hesitantly, an unusual action in itself. He and Amya were closer than two sides of a shirt sewn together, as Alistair had put it. Despite Zevran’s constant movement across the castle halls, now that he stopped Amya saw he looked just as exhausted as she felt, dark, tired eyes blinking at her on slightly unsteady feet before gathering his tired thoughts enough to answer in his usual cheery manner.</p><p>“My dear Warden, you must know this is the perfect time for assassins like myself to take their chances.” He smirked, hovering over her and Alistair in a stance that could easily have looked threatening to anyone who wasn’t aware of how much he cared for them both. He was simply making a point. “The wardens and their party are tired and resting, so sure that everything is over, what better time to catch them off guard?”</p><p>Amya smiled lightly back at him, an exasperated amusement flickering over her face at his posturing. “Mm, I know. But there’s guards for that, you don’t need to do the rounds yourself. If that was necessary, you know I’d be walking with you.” She sighed, letting out a little yawn afterwards, and a noise of complaint as Alistair nudged her to stay awake.</p><p>“You can never know for sure.” Zevran tried reasoning with her, but frowned and huffed at her vehement shake of head.</p><p>“Just sit, you being stubborn after a day like this isn’t going to save us from anything except a well-slept night,” Alistair spoke out, while Amya reached her arm out again more vehemently, staring expectantly at the still-standing man. “I know you’re anxious, but the guards really do know what they’re doing here.”</p><p>Zevran sighed deeply, his expression exasperated at both of them. But eventually the small elf relaxed his posture and walked to Amya’s waiting arms, carefully settling into her hold so that he wasn’t lying on her injured arm, snaking his own arms around her as well. With their legs tangled and his head resting on her shoulder, he nudged her neck with his nose, sighing contentedly. “If we wake up to an assassin attempting to murder us, I will put all the blame on you, <em> amora </em>,” he mumbled, and felt a smile tug at his lips as Amya’s shoulders shook in quiet laughter, while Alistair let out a quiet chuckle at their side.</p><p>“That sounds fine with me.” Amya laughed sleepily, shifting a little and nudging Zevran to raise his head enough that she could press a quick kiss onto his brow. He followed with a second kiss to her jaw to which she sighed contentedly, before he returned to his cozy spot at her shoulder, eyes flickering closed for just a short moment, still stubbornly fighting sleep.</p><p>“You know, I can go if you two want some peace.” Alistair suggested as he began to lift his arm away from Amya’s shoulders, amusement in his voice as he watched them.</p><p>“Nooo, Ali, you’re so warm.” Amya began complaining, turning to reach at him but coming short in her reach since her arm on that side was bandaged against her chest. “Zev, help me! Stop him.” She whined, dramatically. Zevran laughed at her dramatic response, and while his arms were busy holding snugly onto her, simply threw a leg over Alistair’s thigh, tangling them even worse into a pile of limbs. </p><p>Alistair laughed and settled back down against Amya’s side, glad he had such close friends near after the harrowing experience they all had earlier tonight. “Fine, fine, I’ll stay. We can all wake up sore in the morning and listen to Wynne’s complaints about sleeping on the floor.”</p><p>“Sounds great, she’ll surely be happy chewing me out for bad decisions yet again, no?” Zevran muttered, sounding disgusted at the idea of more lecturing. Amya snickered, though she was finding her eyes involuntarily closing again, now that she was surrounded by not one, but two warm bodies.</p><p>Alistair noticed this, and lifted his palm to lightly ruffle the side of her hair. “Just sleep, you look ready to drop.”</p><p>The smaller warden sighed, but didn’t protest, and simply rested her head against his arm, at last letting her eyes stay closed, calm. Her tight one-armed hold on the other elf loosened slightly within the next moments as she dozed off, exhaustion finally taking over her.</p><p>The room became silent for a moment, the only sound was their quiet breathing and the occasional shift of their tangled limbs. Alistair had thought Zevran fell asleep as well, and was on the brink of sleep himself when he heard the other’s quiet voice. </p><p>“I know I’ve already said this, but... thank you.” </p><p>He didn’t have to say any more, they both knew he meant the previous night with Morrigan’s plan. Had Alistair refused the ritual, one of them wouldn’t be here now, sleeping in a comfortable pile, their life still ahead. </p><p>Alistair glanced down at his two best friends, and met the half-visible elven eyes resting half-lidded beneath Amya’s chin, glowing lightly in the dark room. He’d been startled by the glow-in-the-dark effect multiple times in the past, but now it was just another familiarity.</p><p>“I couldn’t leave the chance untried,” He sighed, holding the eye-contact with a frown on his face. “It wasn’t fun, exactly, but it was worth it. You saw how she stole the last hit at the archdemon. It was never going to be my life at risk, she was going to do it regardless.” Alistair sighed, watching his friend’s sleeping face with a frown. He couldn’t see Zevran’s face properly in the dark, but the man had gone quiet, and his eyes were avoiding Alistair’s now. It took him a moment to make any noise again, and when he did, it was barely a whisper.</p><p>“...She almost didn’t even tell you,” he spoke, and then, after a moment, “about the ritual.”</p><p>Alistair startled, but waited quietly in case there was more. After a moment he heard a shift of fabric in the dark, and his wait was rewarded, an uncertain voice speaking up once more.</p><p>“She came back to our room, after Morrigan spoke with her. She was upset, of course. Anyone would be, no?” A bitter laugh sounded out, quiet. “She told me easily enough, but I had to threaten to tell you myself before she agreed to even let you know about the idea.”</p><p>Alistair could only nod, his frown deepening. “Right. The ritual did seem like a sore spot to her. But you didn’t want to lose her, that’s understandable.”</p><p>“Mmh. I knew it was a sore spot, but I much prefer having you both alive. Even if we could hold her back from the kill, you would have fallen without the ritual.”</p><p>Alistair gave a little noise at the sad words, and unwilling to wake Amya up again by moving, simply gave his friend’s leg a little pat as a response. “Right.” He muttered, the reality of it settling in once more. “Thanks. For talking her out of the secrets.”</p><p>Zevran huffed a dry laugh, and shifted a little, his fingers reaching to grab the side of Alistair’s sleeve, too tired to play nonchalant. He’d lost two of his loved ones not that long ago, but these two were still alive, and more of their shared companions in the other rooms. He was feeling freer than ever, loved in a whole different way than he could ever have imagined.</p><p>Similar thoughts lulled both Zevran and Alistair into sleep as well, both gently leaned over Amya’s sleeping form, warm and cozy. Despite his earlier concerns, no assassins bothered them that night, not even in their dreams.</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>